


You Made Us Breakfast?

by grantaireible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: FWP (fluff w/o plot), Fluff, M/M, Smittenjolras, seriously, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaireible/pseuds/grantaireible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He opens his eyes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the open bedroom door, strong enough to seduce him into a sitting position. He is unjustifiably groggy, he realizes, as he takes a glance at the bedside table through his unruly dark curls. The clock reads 10:00 AM. The clock also informs him that it is SUN, which he doesn’t understand in his barely conscious state because the light pouring in through the thin curtains is grey and pale which means it must be incredibly cloudy or possibly even drizzling outside. When he makes a grab for his phone, his phone informs him that it is Sunday.</p><p>Oh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Made Us Breakfast?

**Author's Note:**

> whoops my hand slipped (inspired by this [post](http://lesmisgayrables.tumblr.com/post/105098164794/guarneretoye-you-could-be-sad-about-your-otp))
> 
> "one making awful breakfast for the other and the other eating it because they appreciate it that much"

He opens his eyes to the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the open bedroom door, strong enough to seduce him into a sitting position. He is unjustifiably groggy, he realizes, as he takes a glance at the bedside table through his unruly dark curls. The clock reads 10:00 AM. The clock also informs him that it is SUN, which he doesn’t understand in his barely conscious state because the light pouring in through the thin curtains is grey and pale which means it must be incredibly cloudy or possibly even drizzling outside. When he makes a grab for his phone, his phone informs him that it is Sunday.

Oh.

While the coffee alone was tempting, it’s the sound of the scraping of a wooden spoon on one of Enjolras’ green non-stick pans that’s the final push for Grantaire to swing his legs over the side of the bed, going so far as to stumble through the doorway clad in nothing but his briefs. He blindly searches for the sweater he knows was left somewhere in the general vicinity of the kitchen table last night and he pulls it over his head when he finds it. He can hear soft tittering and see Enjolras moving about the kitchen in his periphery once he’s run a hand through his hair a good three times. He sits down at the table in the same moment a plate is set down before him.

“For you,” Enjolras explains as he sets down a steaming mug shortly after.

“You made us breakfast?” A second plate joins the first.

“I wanted to see if I could make something other than scrambled eggs with too much salt, so I thought I’d try my hand at making omelets.”

The mug is warm in his hands and it makes his toes curl in satisfaction. “Without proper supervision?”

“Shut up, Grantaire.”

And he does, because the first two sips of coffee are sloshing around in his empty stomach and that’s all he needs to realize he’s hungry. So he holds his mug in one hand and forks in a mouthful with the other and –

Suppresses an involuntary cough. 

Pepper. So much pepper, Enjolras, what the fuck?

“How is it?” But his eyes are so big and blue when they meet Grantaire’s own and Grantaire can’t disappoint those eyes, not this early in the morning. Not when he looks so damn hopeful.

It takes him a beat to swallow. “Good, yeah. Great.” He guzzles his coffee like a dying man.

The look of suspicion that flashes across Enjolras’ eyes tells Grantaire that he’s doomed. He can’t fend Enjolras off, save him from the terror, from the pepper, quick enough. Enj has got a forkful of the offending omelet in his mouth before Grantaire can even set his mug down.

He spits it out just as quick. “Oh my god.”

Grantaire takes another bite because he is stubborn. “It’s fine. See? It’s fine.”

His fork and the plates are being taken away from him and pushed aside before he has a chance to fully swallow. “Don’t eat that, oh my god, you idiot.” Enjolras takes his face in his hands and steals a quick kiss, the smile of his laughter pressed against Grantaire’s lips. “That was horrible, I’m so sorry for poisoning you.”

“It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Stop lying and make us breakfast.”

“Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> come give me prompts at my [tumblr](http://grantaireible.tumblr.com/)


End file.
